Page 8 of Dear Future Husband

“You good, May?” Liam asked, breaking the silence.

Blinking, I nodded.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, why?”

His full attention was on the road, except for the few spare glances he directed at me. “You’ve been staring at me.”

I ducked my head. “Sorry, didn’t mean to.”

Warily, he peered over at me again. “You sure there’s not something on your mind?”

“Nope, I’m good,” I said. “Anything on your mind?” I redirected.

Without hesitation, he shook his head. “Nope, I’m good.”

And that was that.

When we parked, Liam didn’t speak to me before jumping out of the car and racing up to the building. While he fell in step with a couple of his friends, I followed too far behind, to hear their conversation.

It wasn’t long after I found my assigned spot for the rehearsal that I saw Liam and Trey walking up. They were in a fit of laughter over something—I bet—I didn't want to know.

Splitting ways, Liam took the seat next to mine. Instead of rushing for his designated spot, Trey stayed put. His hesitation to leave had me looking up to see that he stopped because he was watching me.

A little disbelieving of the moment, I glanced over my shoulder, sure he was eyeing someone or something behind me. Nope, no one was returning his focus and when I turned back, Trey was smirking and then he was waving. Slightly grinning, I returned his simple wave, and I almost died right there when his smile grew.

“Okay students, take your seats. Let’s get started,” our vice principal announced, which had Trey looking away and leaving to take his place.

The rehearsal was quick. Liam and I practiced crossing the stage with ease. As the last names were called, I leaned over to Liam and whispered, “I’m gonna go use the bathroom. Meet you in the hall?”

He nodded. “Sure.”

I escaped the auditorium into the quiet, open hall. With everyone busy in the rehearsal, I had the girls’ restroom all to myself. As I washed my hands, I barely noticed the squeaking hinges of the opening bathroom door. Until I twisted from the sinks to find myself, alone, standing face to face with Clayton Thomas.

Anxiety tangled itself through my ribcage and pulled taut on the noose around my heart as I watched Clayton grin.

“Hey, Mason.”

I lurched for the door, but he was a wall, blocking my exit. “What’s the rush?”

Trapped, I backed away from Clayton until the sinks were at my back, pinning me to the spot. his smile was oily as he stepped up into my space. “I was scared you left before we got the chance to talk more. Our conversation yesterday was cut too short.”

Frozen to the spot, my body trembled as his smile widened with malicious delight.

Speak, Maybelle. Speak.

Instead, I bit down on my tongue. My mouth stopped listening to the begging of my brain. Clayton took another step toward me. His eyes darted to my feet. He snorted at the way they shuffled, trying to press farther into the immovable porcelain sink at my back.

“Come on, Mason. I won’t bite,” he said, holding a hand to me. He nearly closed the distance between us when he whispered, “At least, not hard.”

I was going to be sick. With an inch of distance between us, the reek of that chemical-heavy aftershave burned my sinuses.

That smell.

I hated that smell. It was so, so close to the same invading scent that haunted each one of my many waking nightmares. The same one that had been present during some of the worst moments of my life. It was a smell I knew I would never forget, no matter how much time passed.

Lost to the terrors that smell shoved me back into, I hardly noticed the sound of the bathroom door opening until Clayton shuttered back from me.